


Live Like Your Last

by Grinner_H



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:57:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4950913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grinner_H/pseuds/Grinner_H





	Live Like Your Last

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashida](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashida/gifts).



If you could read my thoughts right now, I know what you would say. 

I know the roughness of your fingers that would find its way into the coarse threads of my dyed hair, the ocean blue of your eyes that'd ignite like a lit fuse, the lines 'round the corners of your mouth which would curve with your bright grin.

"Always living in the past, Akihito," you'd laughingly chide me, muss my hair to Tyler Hilton-esque proportions. "Always looking back."

But I can't help looking back any more than the sky can help being infinite. 

You always chuckle in that way that tells me you understand, even when you don't quite _get_ it. You, who always lives in the present, who always sees what's right in front of you. 

Maybe I'm living in the past too much, but I really _like_ remembering things.

Stupid things, ordinary things, things that matter. Things about _you._

I remember the way your hair looks on a windy day - soft, blond locks that dance in the breeze, that curl at the edges, that I can't resist repeatedly running my fingers through. 

I can recall the creases of your jeans, the way you'd fasten the clasp of your silver watch around your left wrist, just 'cause you felt like being right-handed that day. 

I think about the scars on your back, how I could feel the weight of them through my fingers, how murderous I'd felt when I learned how you got them. 

See, I like remembering these things about you. 

I like thinking that maybe I could pull an Evan Treborn and just try to fix this, fix _us._

Would it help if I tried to fix time? I could go back and meticulously analyze the jagged pieces of our fate, try my utmost at putting them back in the order that makes the most sense, but that'd be no way to live, would it? 

What would be the point of surviving with kid gloves and barred windows? To keep thinking, _I shouldn't have..._ or _If only I could..._

Somedays, though...

Somedays, I feel like scraping my insides raw with a rusted spoon, just so I'd be able to feel anything but _this._ This desperate, aching _rage,_ this roiling _hurt_ that churns bone-deep when I watch you smile the way you used to - fake and empty.

I'm not always living in the past. I see the present too, just as much as you do - watching you lie here on my side of the bed, not quite asleep, not awake either. 

I wonder if you're dreaming of me. I wonder if you're dreaming of all the dumb things we did, like dancing crazy in the living room to _Hang On Sloopy_ or trying to do everything backward just 'cause we had nothing but time. 

At least, that's what I always _thought_ we had. 

I wonder why we never moved in together. Lord knows we practically _lived_ together anyway. I spent so much time in this apartment and even more in your bed. 

And I miss all these things about you - your stupid blond hair and your stupid smile and your stupid goddamn kisses. 

If you're dreaming of me the way I always think about you, I hope that you'll never wake up.

\--

I try not to think about the future. 

I _used_ to, back when I believed we were infinite like the sky, back when reality seemed so much like a happy dream. 

I haven't thought about the future in what feels like an unbearably long time.

I would like to say, _"We could've gone to that Holding Mercury show."_ Or, _"I could have learned what it'd feel like to have fallen off the edge with you."_

But I can't say any of these things because you're falling right now, sinking deeper into the ocean that reminds me of your eyes, and I know that you're not going to get up. 

I wonder if you're letting salt water fill your lungs just so they wouldn't feel quite so empty anymore. 

I wish that I could sit here and think and remember and watch you _fall, sink, drown_ without me, but I don't really want that at all. 

So I paddle-kick my way toward you, grab your hand and pull you up toward the surface. 

But you're not coughing or gasping for air in that dramatic way most people do in the movies. You're just looking at me - here on the shore, not at all wet even though you've just been underwater - and I wonder if you realize you're laughing and crying at the same time. 

_"Why?"_ I ask, because now I know we have nothing _but_ time, and I can wonder about whatever I want. "You could have lived." _You could have loved again._

 _"You idiot,"_ you say, reaching for me, pulling me against your broad chest and holding me like you've forgotten how to let go. _"I'd rather be happy."_

And I can't help but laugh, in that insane way you always told me was cute and creepy all at once, tangling my fingers in your curls and kissing you like I can't stop. 

'Cause guess what? All we've got right now? It's nothing but future.


End file.
